


Secrets of the Mark

by raccoonoverlord



Series: Dishonored Drabbles [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Dishonored 2, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, One Shot, hopefully it makes some sense, i can only imagine what happened between dishonored 1 and 2 so i made some stuff up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:11:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoonoverlord/pseuds/raccoonoverlord
Summary: Emily always wondered what that strange tattoo on the back of Corvo's hand was, ever since the events of the first Dishonored. Would she ever find out the truth? Would Corvo even be the one to tell her?





	Secrets of the Mark

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm putting them in a series they don't happen in the same timeline, I just wanted all these Dishonored related things together. After writing a thing from Corvo's perspective I started wondering about what Emily could have known about the occult, and so I wrote this, imagining she was reflecting the day before the events of Dishonored 2 start.

My father won’t tell me how he got his powers.

I’ve been able to talk with him about nearly everything. My thoughts and feelings, my insecurities. We’ve spoken about growing up, politics, and the most mundane things like our favorite artists and books.

For the last several years, we’ve been able to speak about my mother without crying every time - except for when the anniversary rolls around. Those memories make my heart sink with loss, but they also comfort me on the darker days. He will tell me about how me and her share the same quirks, about a certain way she would fold the corners of books she read, about how she could capture people’s attention by saying not even two words. He can speak of such fond times without weeping, without disappearing for days on end and returning more bruised than before.

But he will not speak of how he got his powers.

I am not a child anymore, and I do not believe he sees me as such either. I turned 25 months ago in the Month of Rain, and have been on the throne since I was 10. No, it is not because he thinks I am too immature, he treats me like an adult in all other regards.

I believe he is scared of what would happen should I know the whole truth.

That day fifteen years ago, when he came for me on Kingsparrow Island after that infuriating Havelock locked me away in the tower, is the first time I saw the Mark that allowed him to save me.

From the room I could hear him enter the makeshift board room, speak then fight with Havelock. The memory has been smeared by time, but I know the fight was short. Corvo released me from that room, and after the initial joy of seeing him faded, I noticed that strange mark on his hand. I had asked then what it was, and all he did was smile and say it was a simple tattoo, nothing more. Even when I pressed for details, he did not cave. He was always careful not to use them directly in front of me unless there was an emergency.

But my curiosity never faded, and years later, I found books talking about magic, and a special Mark only given to a select few. The Mark of the Outsider.

I studied the books, noting the passages talking about witch covens who used magic and cults that worshiped the Outsider. Until that point the Outsider was a myth - a bedtime story stop young children from being naughty or a tale to scare your friends. Sure the Abbey of the Everyman thought the Outsider to be a false God, but everyone knew they used the Outsider as an excuse to eradicate those deemed ‘unworthy’. The Outsider was a legend, nothing more than a folktale to symbolize an underworld for all the evil or unwanted things in the world. However, with each book I became more and more convinced it may not be entirely false.

No matter how many times he found the books and disposed of them, I came across more and hide them somewhere new. It took me five years - mostly done during the nights by candlelight - to read all there was to read on the Outsider and the Void, from religious texts and research journals. Another year was spent realizing most of the authors didn’t agree on anything - except that the Outsider gifts a Mark to whoever he wishes, and that Mark gives the bearer powerful magic. The cults claim one can summon the Outsider and receive the Mark like that, the Abbey portrays the Outsider as a devil of sorts, and scholars on the level of Sokolov and Joplin all say the same thing after they put out their theories - we may never know for sure.

If only I could get him to talk.

Three times I have tried to get him to tell me the truth. The first was on my thirteenth birthday, when we were sitting on the beach after the festivities. I had tried to be sly about it, asking vague questions that quickly turned direct. At the time, I had only known he was my father for a short while, and stupidly thought that maybe that could help me get the answers I sought.

_Where’d you get that ‘tattoo’?_

_Why do you cover it up?_

_The guards say you can fight through a band of mercenaries in less than a second. How do you do it?_ I was still largely in the dark at the time and eager for information. 

My questions earned a hard look and an _I will tell you when you’re older_ , and nothing more.

Again at eighteen, I tried again. That time, I was more direct. Since I was fifteen he had begun training me to fight, and in my training I saw better clues as to what he could do. He could span 20 meters in a second, walk around one corner and be down a hall without making any noise. When we ran atop rooftops, he could bridge gaps 40 meters across, in seconds no less. He could leap twice his own height - and he is not a short man - and survive a fall that would normally maim anyone else.

I took those clues, and confronted him at dinner once the chefs left the room. It was not a pleasant night, one that I spent with a bottle of wine on the roof of the Tower. We did not speak for a day, but eventually we elected to forget the argument and returned to normal. I regret asking then too, for not formulating a better plan. Some of those things I said I’ve since apologized for, and yet I still feel guilt over that whole night, and probably will until I’m old and crippled.

The third time was a year ago today, on the day prior to the anniversary of my mother’s murder. During the anniversaries we have our own ways of dealing with the grief of being reminded. The good years are when we drink and talk about the days spent with her. On the bad years, we train twice as hard and twice as long at night, when everything else is asleep and we aren’t forced to plan events or speak to others about the tragedy. We’ll spar until we collapse from exhaustion, climb roofs and cliffs until our hands bleed, practice shooting at songbirds until the dawn comes. Stupidly I confronted him about it. Asked why wouldn’t he teach me about it. And drunk on exhaustion and terrible back alley beer, why wouldn’t he show me, or even share the power.

_If you want me to be able to protect myself then why not share the magic? If it’s what makes you a great fighter then maybe you could give it to me, and I could protect myself!_

In the heat of the argument he finally gave me some answers.

_I never asked to be Marked! Sitting at those shrines listening to him preach philosophy at me as I raced against the clock to save you. All those times I had to listen to her voice just to get to the next shrine. And what does he do in the end? Abandon me once the excitement is over, but left with this Mark. Maybe the anger has faded, but I still struggle to keep myself from enjoying the Mark’s power. I would never wish that on you, and I command you do not ask me again about this._

I was left in a hurt daze, and he left me on the rooftops to return to Dunwall Tower. We didn’t talk unless absolutely necessary during the ceremonies, and things returned to normal at a painfully slow pace.

I knew when he said her, he meant my mother, but why would the Outsider tease him like that? Why would the Outsider choose him? Was it because of his position as Royal Protector or some deeper reason? What powers did he have, and why would he struggle to accept them even now, fifteen years after he apparently first received them? Why would Corvo feel like he couldn’t confide in me? I fear that I won’t ever understand, unless the Outsider himself appeared to me and explained his reasoning. And even then, how could I be sure he would tell the truth, if he’s real at all?

My father won’t tell me how he got the powers, and I hope one day he finds it in himself to tell me the truth.

\- - -

I watch as a man steps out from behind the rock pillar. He’s prim, dressed like a wealthy man all in black and appearing to be my junior by five or so years. The aura around him and the depth of those black eyes tell me he is not young at all.

Would it be odd to say I’ve been hoping for a moment like this? Perhaps it is my fascination with the occult and my father’s secret giving me this sick rush of excitement. Or it is all purely a symptom of entering the Void? That’s what this place is, correct? Look at me, talking to no one. Maybe this is why my father wanted me to stay away. The Void is known for driving people insane.

\- - -

The Outsider speaks like a friend, called himself one too, but how much should I trust those bottomless eyes? I can see the throne room in them: bodies scattered around, some missing limbs and heads and the decorations for the anniversary ruined by blood. Ramsey acting like an entitled child while my father stood frozen by Delilah’s magic, the Mark nowhere to be seen on his hand. Myself surrounded by ghosts in this cold world.

I can stay away from the Outsider and decline the Mark, remember how Corvo looked so… _defeated_ , and not get wrapped up in magic I barely understand.

How then would I go about defeating Delilah? She has magic stronger than anything I've read about, with a corrupt Duke to help her control the empire. I am one person being hunted for crimes I did not commit, with nothing more than a sword and burning desire for justice. Much like the impossible situation Corvo was thrust into fifteen years ago.

But I have a choice.

_I am sorry father_. When I look back up to the Outsider, it’s like he knew I would say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I'll add more chapters to this, but who knows, I may get inspired to continue this, but for now this will be a one chapter thing. I just enjoy the Dishonored games and the lore a lot, and wanted to try writing from Emily's POV. Either way, 2nd post to AO3 done, thanks so much for reading!


End file.
